Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. ‘That way. It was just a chance that we in particular hit against each other—nothing predestined about it. It gave her joy to see them laughing, even though she was unsure of what she had done wrong. Had this not been the case, he must have refused even to see his Frenchified granddaughter. You must keep out of the way till it's blown over. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday.
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